Frigga stared down at Loki's sweet face as the boy slept in his crib. Small lights twinkled a soft golden amber on the ceiling, bathing the room in comfortable near-darkness. He was laying on his back, head turned to his right, little fist at his mouth, with the thumb just touching his pink bow lips. The gentle rise and fall of his chest under his favorite dark green blanket reassured her. It had become her routine to peek every night, watching for the movement that meant the toddler still lived. He was not the child of her body, but his ready laugh and the mischievous light in his eyes had turned him quickly into the son of her heart. It seemed hard to remember a time now when he had not been a member of their family.

He smacked his lips and let out a little sigh. Frigga smiled at his innocence, his contentment. He would never need to know that his own blood kin had left him to die. It would be too cruel a thing to tell such a lovely, loving child. But how would they explain to him his presence here when the time came for him to assume the throne of Jotunheim? How would they explain that he was a Frost Giant? Especially when the other Aesir mothers told stories of Frost Giants to keep their children in line? She sighed. They would burn that bridge when they came to it.

He made some more little noises and Frigga frowned. He understood everything that was said to him, to the point of precociousness, but the child had yet to speak any actual words. Both Baldur and Thor had already been forming simple sentences by this age. But then, how old was Loki, really? Did Frost Giants age the way Aesir did? And who knew how long he had been exposed to the elements and what that had done to his little body.

The healers had pronounced him to be as healthy as they could discern—naturally, they knew of his true form for it would have been impossible to keep that from them and their scanners. They had assured Frigga that when Loki was ready, he would speak; at least, there was nothing physically keeping him from doing so.

Loki squirmed a bit and little tendrils of green wafted around his fingertips like fog, blowing away as he exhaled. The boy had an instinctive gift for magic, one that she was trying to teach him to control, but that he seemed disinclined to want to control. He enjoyed magic and all the fun he could have with it. She just hoped that he would not learn the hard way that life was not all mischief, and that magic was a meat knife that could cut to give one a succulent bite of steak, but could just as easily hurt or kill.

He squirmed again and opened his beautiful blue eyes, staring up at her. He smiled and she smiled back at him. "Want Thor," he claimed, then closed his eyes and drifted back off to sleep. Frigga rolled her eyes. Typical. Thor's first word had been "Baldur" and Baldur's had been "Da". Why should Loki be any different? He opened one eye and a small smile touched his tiny bow lips. "Momma." Frigga's heart melted as he reached his little arms up to her.